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MOUFFLON 


The Dog of Florence 
By 

LOUISE DE LA RAMEE 



RETOLD BY SARA D. JENKINS, PH.B. 


ALBERT^WHITMAN 
& 5 CO 

CHICAGO 









MOUFFLON 

THE DOG OF FLORENCE 

Copyright 1931 by Albert Whitman & Co. 
Chicago, U. S. A. 


P&O 

, 2 ) 

. 3h~jS 

Me 


v *y * 

Printed in the U. S. A. 


©Cl A 4 4184 


SEP 21 153! 




MOUFFLON 















MOUFFLON 

The Dog of Florence 

Moufflon’s master was one of a fam¬ 
ily of poor but merry boys and girls. 
Their father had been dead five years, 
and their mother’s care was all they 
knew. 

Tasso, a lad of nearly twenty, was 
the eldest of them all. He was so 
kind, so industrious, so cheerful, and 
so gentle, that the children loved him 
very dearly. Tasso was a gardener, 
and mainly the bread-winner. 


6 


MOUFFLON 


Moufflon’s master was little Ro- 
molo, only ten years of age, and a 
cripple. Romolo—-called Lolo—had 
taught Moufflon all he knew; and that 
all was a very great deal, for nothing 
more clever than Moufflon had ever 
walked upon four legs. 

Why was he named Moufflon? 
When the poodle was given to them 
by a soldier, he was a white, woolly 
creature a year old, and the children’s 
mother had said that he looked like 
a moufflon, as they call sheep in 
France. 

White and woolly this dog re- 


MOUFFLON 


7 


mained, and he became the hand¬ 
somest and biggest poodle in all the 
city. The word Moufflon was ever 
the name by which he was known; it 
was not a pretty name, but it suited 
him and the children. 

They lived in an old part of Flor¬ 
ence, in that picturesque zigzag, which 
goes round the grand church of San 
Michele, where the tall, old houses are 
weather-beaten into the most beautiful 
hues. The pavement is covered with 
peddlers and stalls, and all kinds of 
trades are going on in the open air, in 
that bright, merry, beautiful Italian 


MOUFFLON 


custom, which, alas! is being driven 
away by new laws. 

Moufflon and his friends lived in a 
high, dark, old house, with the sign of 
the lamb in wrought iron, which shows 
it was once a warehouse. They are 
all old houses here, drawn round 
about that grand church, which was 
once called a casket of silver. 

It was a mighty casket, indeed, 
holding the Holy Spirit within it; and 
red, blue, and orange glowed in its 
niches and its windows. Its statues of 
the Apostles were strong and noble— 
St. Peter, with his keys, and St. Mark 


MOUFFLON 


9 


with his open book, and St. George 
leaning on his sword. 

The church stands firm as a rock, 
square as a fortress of stone. The 
winds and the waters of the skies 
may beat about it as they will, 
they have no power to disturb its 
repose. Sometimes I think that of 
all the noble things in Italy, San 
Michele is the noblest, standing silent 
amidst the people’s hurrying feet 
and noisy laughter, a memory of 
God. 

The little masters of Moufflon lived 
in its very shadow, where a bridge of 


10 


MOUFFLON 


stone spans the space between the 
houses and the church. 

Little Lolo loved the church with 
a great love. He loved it in the 
morning, when the sunbeams turned 
it into dusky gold and jasper; he 
loved it in the evening, when the lights 
of its altars glimmered in the dark, and 
the scent of its incense came out into 
the street; he loved it in the great 
feasts, when the huge clusters of lilies 
were borne inside it; he loved it in 
the solemn nights of winter, when 
the flickering gleam of the dull lamps 
shone on the robes of an apostle, or on 


MOUFFLON 


11 


a shield. He loved it always, and, 
without knowing why, he called it 
La mia Chiesa. 

Lolo, being lame and delicate, was 
not able to go to school or to work, 
though he wove straw and plaited 
cane matting with busy fingers. For 
the most part, he did as he liked, 
and spent most of his time sitting 
near San Michele, watching the ven¬ 
ders of earthenware, or trotting, with 
his crutch and Moufflon, down the 
street, under the arches of the Uffizzi, 
over the Jewelers’ Bridge, and out 
by byways into the fields on the 



THE BRIDGE OVER THE ARNO 














MOUFFLON 


13 


hillside, on the other bank of the 
Arno. 

Moufflon and he would spend half 
the day—all the day—out there in 
daffodil-time; and Lolo would come 
home with great bundles and sheaves 
of golden flowers. He and Moufflon 
were very happy. 

His mother never wished to say a 
harsh word to Lolo, for he was lame 
through her fault. She had let him 
fall in his babyhood, and the mischief 
done to him could not be undone. 
She never raised her voice t > him, 
though she often did to the others— 


14 


MOUFFLON 


to curly-pated Cecco, and pretty black- 
eyed Dina, and saucy Bice, and sturdy 
Beppo, and even to the good, manly, 
hard-working Tasso. 

Tasso was the mainstay of the 
family, though he was but a gardener, 
working in the green Cascine, at small 
wages. All he earned he brought 
home to his mother. He, alone, kept 
in order the lazy, high-tempered San¬ 
dro; he, alone, kept in check Bice’s 
love of finery; he, alone, made both 
ends meet, and kept bread always in 
the cupboard. 

When his mother thought, as she 


MOUFFLON 


15 


thought, indeed, almost ceaselessly, 
that in a few months he would be of 
age to go to the army, and was to be 
taken from her for three years, the poor 
soul believed her heart would break. 
Many a day, at twilight, she would 
start out, creep into the great church, 
and pour forth her soul in prayer. 

Yet, pray as she would, no miracle 
could happen to make Tasso free of 
military service. If he drew a fatal 
number, go he must, even though it 
brought their ruin. 

One morning, Lolo sat, as usual, on 
the steps of the church, Moufflon 


16 


MOUFFLON 


beside him. It was a brilliant morn¬ 
ing in September. The men at the 
hand-barrows and at the stalls were 
selling crockery, silk handkerchiefs, 
and straw hats about San Michele. 
Very blithe, good-natured, gay they 
were, for the most part, but bawling, 
and screaming, and shouting as if the 
sale of a penny pipkin or a twopenny 
pie-pan were the exchange of many 
thousands of pounds sterling. 

It was about eleven o’clock; the 
barber at the corner was shaving a 
big man, with a cloth tucked about 
his chin, and his chair set well out 


MOUFFLON 


17 


on the pavement; the sellers of the 
pipkins and pie-pans were screaming 
till they were hoarse, “ Un solde luno, due 
soldi tre!" Big bronze bells were boom¬ 
ing till they seemed to clang up to 
the deep-blue sky; some brethren of 
the Misericordia went by bearing a 
black bier; a large sheaf of glowing 
flowers — dahlias, zinnias, asters, and 
daturas—was borne through the huge 
arched door of the church, near St. 
Mark. 

Lolo looked at it all, and so did 
Moufflon; and a stranger looked at 
them, as he left the church. 


18 


MOUFFLON 


“You have a handsome poodle 
there, my little man,” said the stranger 
to Lolo, in a foreigner’s too distinct 
and careful Italian. 

“ Moufflon is beautiful,” said Lolo, 
with pride. “You should see him 
when he is just washed; but we can 
only wash him on Sundays, because 
then Tasso is at home.” 

“ How old is your dog?” 

“Three years.” 

“Does he do any tricks?” 

“Does he!” said Lolo, with a 
laugh; “why, Moufflon can do any¬ 
thing! He can walk on two legs ever 


MOUFFLON 


19 


so long; make ready, present, and fire, 
die, waltz, beg, of course, shut a door, 
make a wheelbarrow of himself; there 
is nothing he will not do. Should 
you like to see him do something?” 

“Very much,” said the stranger. 

To Moufflon and to Lolo the street 
was the same thing as home. This 
cheery “piazzetta” by the church, so 
empty sometimes, and sometimes so 
noisy and crowded, was but the wider 
threshold of their home to both the 
poodle and the child. 

So there, under the lofty and stately 
walls of the old church, Lolo put 


20 


MOUFFLON 


Moufflon through his exercises. They 
were second nature to Moufflon, as to 
most poodles. He had inherited them 
from clever parents, and as he had 
never been frightened, all his lessons 
were but play to him. 

He acquitted himself admirably, and 
the crockery-venders came and looked 
on. Even a monk came out of the 
church and smiled. The barber left 
his customer’s chin all in a lather, 
while he laughed; for the good folk 
were all proud of Moufflon, and never 
tired of him. 

The stranger, also, was much pleased 



uffizi (of-fed'ze). Florence. 

One of the Chief Art Galleries of the World. 







22 


MOUFFLON 


at Moufflon’s talents, and said, half 
aloud, “How this clever dog would 
amuse poor Victor! Would you bring 
your poodle to please a sick child I 
have at home?” he said, aloud. Lolo 
smiled, answered that he would, and 
asked, “ Where is the sick child ? ” 

“At the Grande Brittania; not far 
off,” said the gentleman. “Come this 
afternoon, and ask for me.” 

He dropped his card and a couple 
of francs into Lolo’s hand, and went 
his way. Lolo, with Moufflon scam¬ 
pering after him, dashed into his own 
house, and stumped up the stairs, his 


MOUFFLON 


23 


crutch making a terrible noise on the 
stone. 

“Mother, mother! See what I have 
got, because Moufflon did his tricks!” 
he shouted. “Now you can buy those 
shoes you want so much, and the 
coffee that you miss so in the morning, 
and the new linen for Tasso, and the 
shirts for Sandro;” for to the mind 
of Lolo two francs was as two millions. 

In the afternoon he and Moufflon 
trotted along the arcades of the Uffizi, 
and down to the hotel of the stranger. 
On showing the card, which Lolo 
could not read, they were shown at 


24 


MOUFFLON 


once into a great chamber, all gilding 
and fresco, and velvet furniture. 

Lolo, being a little Florentine, was 
never troubled or daunted by mere 
sofas and chairs. He stood and 
looked around him, at perfect ease; 
and Moufflon, whose attitude, when he 
was not romping, was always one of 
gravity, sat on his haunches and did 
the same. 

Soon the foreigner he had seen in 
the forenoon entered, spoke kindly to 
him, and led him into another cham¬ 
ber where, stretched on a couch, was a 
little wan-faced boy, about seven years 


MOUFFLON 


25 


of age; a pretty boy, but so pale, so 
wasted, so helpless. 

This poor little child was heir to a 
great name and a great fortune; but 
all the science in the world could not 
make him strong enough to run about 
among the daisies, or able to draw a 
single breath without pain. A feeble 
smile lit up his face as he saw Mouf¬ 
flon and Lolo; then a shadow chased 
it away. 

“ Little boy is lame like me,” he 
said, in a tongue Lolo did not under¬ 
stand. 

“Yes; but he is a strong little boy, 


26 


MOUFFLON 


and can move about, as perhaps this 
country will make you do,” said the 
gentleman, who was the poor little 
boy’s father. “ He has brought his 
poodle to amuse you. What a hand¬ 
some dog! Is it not?” 

“Oh, e Buffins!” said the poor little 
fellow, stretching out his wasted hands 
to Moufflon. 

Then Lolo went through the per¬ 
formance, and Moufflon acquitted him¬ 
self ably as ever; and the little invalid 
laughed and shouted with his tiny, 
thin voice, and enjoyed it all, raining 
cakes and biscuits on both the poodle 


MOUFFLON 


27 


and its master. Lolo ate the pastry 
with willing white teeth, and Moufflon 
did no less. Then they got up to go, 
and the sick child on the couch burst 
into fretful weeping and outcries. 

“I want the dog! I will have the 
dog!” he repeated. 

But Lolo did not know what he 
said, and was only sorry to see him so 
unhappy. 

“You shall have the dog to-mor¬ 
row,” said the gentleman, to pacify his 
little son; and he hurried Lolo and 
Moufflon out of the room, having 
given Lolo five francs. 


28 


MOUFFLON 


“Why, Moufflon,” said Lolo, with a 
chuckle of delight, “if we could find a 
foreigner every day, we could eat meat 
at supper, and go to the theater every 
evening!” 

He and his crutch clattered home 
with great eagerness and excitement, 
and Moufflon trotted along, the blue 
bow, with which Bice had tied up his 
curls on the top of his head, flutter¬ 
ing in the wind. But, alas! even his 
francs could bring no comfort at home. 
He found the whole family wailing 
and moaning in distress. 

Tasso had drawn his number that 


MOUFFLON 


29 


morning, and he must go and be a 
soldier for three years. 

The poor young man stood in the 
midst of his weeping brothers and sis¬ 
ters. His mother was leaning against 
his shoulder, and down his brown 
cheeks the tears were falling. He 
must go, and lose his place in the 
public gardens, and leave his mother 
to starve. He must be put in a sol¬ 
dier’s jacket, and drafted off among 
cursing and swearing men and strange 
faces—friendless, homeless, miserable! 
And the mother—what would become 
of the mother? 


30 


MOUFFLON 


Tasso was the best of lads and the 
mildest. He was quite happy sweep¬ 
ing up the leaves in the long alleys of 
the garden, or mowing the green lawns 
under the ilex avenues, and coming 
home at supper-time to the merry little 
people and the good woman that he 
loved. He was quite contented; he 
wanted nothing, only to be let alone; 
and they would not let him alone. 
They would take him away, put a 
heavy musket in his hand, and a heavy 
knapsack on his back, and drill him, 
and make him into a human target. 

No one paid any attention to Lolo 


MOUFFLON 


31 


and his five francs. Moufflon, under¬ 
standing that some great sorrow had 
fallen on his friends, sat down, and 
lifted up his voice, and howled. 

Tasso must go away! — that was all 
they understood. For three long years 
they must go without the sight of his 
face, the aid of his strength, the pleas¬ 
ure of his smile. Tasso must go! 

When Lolo understood what had 
befallen them, he gathered Moufflon 
up against his breast, sat down on the 
floor beside him, and cried as if he 
would never stop crying. 

There was no help for it! It was 


32 


MOUFFLON 


one of those misfortunes which are 
like a stone tumbled on the head. 
The stone drops from a height, and 
the poor head bows under the unseen 
blow. That is all. 

“What is the use of that?” said 
the mother, passionately, when Lolo 
showed her his five francs. “It will 
not buy Tasso’s discharge.” 

Lolo felt that his mother was cruel 
and unjust, and crept to bed with 
Moufflon. The next morning Lolo 
got up before sunrise, and he and 
Moufflon went with Tasso to his work 
in the garden. 


MOUFFLON 


33 


Lolo loved his brother, and clung 
to him every moment while they could 
still be together. 

‘‘Can nothing keep you, Tasso?” he 
said, as they went down the leafy 
aisles, where the Arno was growing 
golden as the sun rose. 

Tasso sighed. 

“Nothing, dear; unless Jesus would 
send me a thousand francs to buy a 
substitute.” 

He knew he might as well have 
said, “If one could coin gold ducats 
out of the sunbeams on the Arno.” 

Lolo was very sorrowful as he lay 


34 


MOUFFLON 


on the grass in the meadow, where 
Tasso was at work, and the poodle lay 
stretched beside him. 

When Lolo went home to dinner, he 
found his mother very strange, laugh¬ 
ing one moment, crying the next. She 
was peevish and tender by turns. 
There was something forced and fever¬ 
ish about her which the children felt, 
but did not comprehend. She was a 
woman of not very much intelligence; 
she had a secret, which she carried ill, 
and knew not what to do with it; but 
they could not tell that. They only 
felt timid at her manner. 


MOUFFLON 


35 


The meal over,— it was only bean- 
soup, and that is soon eaten,— the 
mother said sharply to Lolo, “Your 
Aunt Anita wants you this afternoon. 
She has to go out, and you are needed 
to stay with the children; be off with 
you.” 

Lolo was an obedient child; he took 
his hat and jumped up as quickly as 
his lameness would let him. He 
called Moufflon. 

“Leave the dog,” said his mother, 
sharply. “ ’Nita will not have him carry¬ 
ing mud about her nice clean rooms. 
She told me so. Leave him, I say.” 


36 


MOUFFLON 


“Leave Moufflon!” echoed Lolo, 
for never in all Moufflon s life had 
Lolo parted from him. Leave Mouf¬ 
flon! He stared open-eyed and open- 
mouthed at his mother. What could 
have come to her? 

“Leave him, I say,” she repeated, 
more sharply than ever. “ Must I 
speak twice to my own children? Be 
off with you, and leave the dog.” 

She clutched Moufflon by his long, 
silky mane and dragged him back¬ 
wards, while with the other hand she 
thrust out of the door Lolo and Bice. 

Lolo began to hammer with his 


MOUFFLON 


37 


crutch at the door thus closed on him; 
but Bice coaxed him. 

“Poor mother has been so worried 
about Tasso,” she pleaded. “What 
harm can come to Moufflon? I think 
he was tired, Lolo; the garden is a 
long way; and it is quite true that 
Aunt ’Nita never liked him.” 

By one means and another, she 
coaxed her brother away; and they 
went almost in silence to where their 
Aunt Anita dwelt, which was across 
the river, near the dark-red bell-shaped 
dome of Santa Spirito. 

It was true that her aunt had 


38 


MOUFFLON 


wanted them to care for her room and 
her babies, while she was away carrying 
some lace to a villa outside the Roman 
gate, for she was a lace-washer and 
clear-starcher by trade. There they 
had to stay in the little dark room 
with the two babies, with nothing to 
amuse them except the clang of the 
bells of the Church of the Holy Spirit, 
and the voices of the lemonade-sellers 
in the street below. 

Aunt Anita did not return until it 
was more than dusk, and the two 
children trotted homeward, hand in 
hand, Lolo’s leg dragging itself pain- 


MOUFFLON 


39 


fully along, for without Moufflon’s 
white figure dancing on before him, he 
felt very tired indeed. It was pitch 
dark when they got to San Michele, 
and the lamps burned dimly. 

Lolo stumped up the stairs wearily, 
with a dull fear at his small heart. 

“Moufflon, Moufflon!” he called. 
Where was Moufflon? Always at the 
first sound of his crutch, the poodle 
came flying towards him. “Moufflon, 
Moufflon!” he called, all the way up 
the long, dark, stone stair. He pushed 
open the door, and he called again, 
“Moufflon, Moufflon!” 


40 


MOUFFLON 


But no dog answered to his call. 

“Mother, where is Moufflon?” he 
asked, staring with blinking, dazzled 
eyes into the oil-lit room, where his 
mother sat knitting. Tasso was not 
then home from work. His mother 
went on with her knitting; there was 
an uneasy look on her face. 

“ Mother, what have you done with 
Moufflon, my Moufflon?” said Lolo, 
with a look that was almost stern on 
his ten-year-old face. 

Then his mother, without looking 
up, and moving her knitting-needles 
very rapidly, said: 


MOUFFLON 


41 


“Moufflon is sold!” 

And little Dina, who was a quick, 
pert child, cried, with a shrill voice: 

“Mother has sold him for a thou¬ 
sand francs to the foreign gentleman.” 

“Sold him!” 

Lolo grew white, and cold as ice; 
he stammered, threw up his hands 
over his head, gasped a little for 
breath, then fell in a dead swoon, 
his poor useless limb doubled under 
him. 

When Tasso came home that sad 
night, and found his little brother 
shivering, moaning, delirious, and when 


42 


MOUFFLON 


he heard what had been done, he was 
sorely grieved. 

“Oh, mother! how could you do 
it?” he cried. “Poor, po'or Moufflon! 
and Lolo loves him so!” 

“ I have got the money,” said his 
mother, nervously, “and you will not 
need to go for a soldier; we can buy 
your substitute. What is a poodle, 
that you mourn about it? We can 
get another poodle for Lolo.” 

“Another will not be Moufflon,” 
said Tasso, and yet he was seized with 
such frantic happiness at the knowl¬ 
edge that he need not go to the 


MOUFFLON 


43 


army, that he had not the heart to re¬ 
buke his mother. 

“ A thousand francs!” he muttered; 
“a thousand francs! DioMtof” Who 
could ever have fancied anybody 
would give such a price for a common 
white poodle!” 

“Fools and their money are soon 
parted,” said his mother. 

It was true: she had sold Moufflon. 

The English gentleman had called 
on her, while Lolo and the dog had 
been in the gardens, and had said that 
he wished to buy the poodle which 
had so pleased his sick child, that the 


44 


MOUFFLON 


little invalid would not be comforted 
unless he possessed it. 

Now, at any other time, the good 
woman would have refused to sell 
Moufflon; but that morning the thou¬ 
sand francs, which would buy Tasso’s 
substitute, were forever in her mind 
and before her eyes. When she heard 
the stranger, her heart gave a great 
leap, and her head swam giddily, and 
she thought, in a spasm of longing,— 
if she could get a thousand francs! 

Though she was dizzy, she said 
nothing of her need of money, not a 
word of her sore distress, but finally 


MOUFFLON 


45 


let fall a hint that she would take a 
thousand francs for poor Moufflon. 

The gentleman said if she would 
take the poodle to his hotel that after¬ 
noon, the money should be paid to 
her; then she sent her children away 
and took Moufflon to his doom. She 
could not believe her senses, when ten 
hundred-franc notes were put into her 
hand. She scrawled her signature to 
a receipt, and went away, leaving 
Moufflon in his new owner’s rooms, 
hearing his howls, and moans, all the 
way down the. staircase and out into 
the air. 


46 


MOUFFLON 


She was not easy at what she had 
done. 

“ It seemed,” she said to herself, 
“like selling a child.” 

But then to keep her eldest son at 
home — what a joy that was! On the 
whole, she cried so, and laughed so, as 
she went down the street, that once or 
twice people looked at her, thinking 
her out of her senses, and a guard 
spoke to her angrily. 

Now Lolo was sick, and delirious 
with grief. Twenty times he got out 
of his bed and screamed to go with 
Moufflon, and twenty times his mother 


MOUFFLON 


47 


and his brothers put him back again, 
and held him down, and tried in vain 
to quiet him. 

The child was beside himself with 
misery. “Moufflon! Moufflon!” he 
sobbed, at every moment. By night 
he was in a raging fever, and when 
his mother, frightened, ran and called 
the doctor, he shook his head and 
said something as to a shock of the 
nervous system, and muttered a long 
word. 

Lolo hated the sight of Tasso, and 
thrust his mother away, too. 

“It is for you Moufflon is sold,” he 


48 


MOUFFLON 


said, with his little teeth and hands 
tightly clenched. 

After a day or two, Tasso felt as if 
he could not bear his life, and went 
down to the hotel to see if the gentle¬ 
man would allow him to have Mouf¬ 
flon back for half an hour, to quiet his 
little brother by a sight of his pet. At 
the hotel he was told that the Milord 
Inglese, who had bought the dog, had 
gone that same night to Rome, to 
Naples, to Palermo, Chi sa? 

“And Moufflon with him?” asked 
Tasso. 

“The barbone he had bought went 


MOUFFLON 


49 


with him,” said the porter of the hotel. 
“Such a beast! Howling, shrieking, 
raging all the day, and scratching all 
the wood of the salon door.” 

Poor Moufflon! Tasso’s heart was 
heavy as he heard of the sad, helpless 
misery of their favorite and friend. 

“What matter!” said his mother, 
fiercely, when he told her. “A dog is 
a dog. They will feed him better than 
we could. In a week he will have 
forgotten!” 

But Tasso feared that Moufflon 
would not forget. Lolo certainly 
would not. The doctor came to the 


50 


MOUFFLON 


bedside twice a day, and ice and water 
were kept on the aching, hot, little 
head. Lolo lay quiet, dull, and 
stupid, breathing heavily, and then 
crying, sobbing, and shrieking hysteri¬ 
cally for Moufflon. 

“Can you not get what he calls for 
to quiet him with a sight of it?” said 
the doctor. That, however, was not 
possible, and the poor mother covered 
her head with her apron and felt 
a guilty creature. 

“Still, you will not go to the army,” 
she said to Tasso, clinging to that 
great joy. “Only think! we can pay 


MOUFFLON 


51 


Guido Squarcione to go for you. He 
always said he would go, if anybody 
would pay him. Oh, my Tasso, 
surely to keep you is worth a dog’s 
life!” 

“And Lolo’s?” asked Tasso, gloom¬ 
ily. “Nay, mother, it works ill to 
meddle too much with fate. I drew 
my number; I ought to go. Heaven 
would have made it up to you some¬ 
how.” 

“Heaven sent me the stranger; the 
Madonna’s own self sent him to ease a 
mother’s pain,” said Rosina, rapidly 
and angrily. “There are the thousand 


52 


MOUFFLON 


francs safe in hand, and what, pray, is 
it we miss? Only a dog like a sheep, 
that brought mud in with him every 
time it rained, and ate as much as any 
one of you.” 

“But Lolo?” said Tasso, under his 
breath. 

“ Lolo was always a little fool, think¬ 
ing of nothing but the church, and 
the dog, and worthless field-flowers,” 
she said, angrily. “ I humored him too 
much, because of the hurt to his hip, 
and so—and so”— 

Then the poor soul made matters 
worse by dropping her tears into the 


MOUFFLON 


53 


saucepan, and fanning the charcoal so 
furiously that the flame caught her fan 
of cane-leaves, and would have burned 
her had not Tasso been there. 

“You are my safety always. Who 
would not have done what I did?” 
she said, with a great sob. 

All this did not cure poor Lolo. 

The days and the weeks of the 
golden autumn weather passed, and he 
was always in danger. The small, 
close room where he slept, with Sandio 
and Beppo and Tasso, was not one to 
cure such an illness as had now beset 
him. Sick at heart, Tasso went to his 


54 


MOUFFLON 


work, where the flowers among the 
meadow-grass, and the ashes and elms 
were taking their first flush of the 
coming autumnal change. He did 
not think Lolo would ever get well, 
and the good lad felt as if he had been 
the murderer of his little brother. 

True, he had no hand or voice in 
the sale of Moufflon, but Moufflon had 
been sold for his sake. It made him 
feel half guilty, very unhappy, quite 
unworthy of all the sacrifice that had 
been made for him. “Nobody should 
meddle with fate,” thought Tasso. 

It was joy, indeed, to know that he 


MOUFFLON 


55 


was free of the army, for a time, at 
least; that he might go on at his health¬ 
ful labor, and get a rise in wages as 
time went on, and dwell in peace with 
his family, and perhaps,—perhaps in 
time earn enough to marry pretty, 
flaxen-haired Blondina, the daughter 
of the barber in the piazzeta. It was 
joy, indeed; but then, poor Moufflon! 
— and poor, poor Lolo! Tasso felt as 
if he had bought his own happiness 
by seeing his little brother and the 
good dog buried alive. 

Where was poor Moufflon? 

Gone far away, somewhere south, 


56 


MOUFFLON 


in the hurrying, screeching train, that 
made Tasso giddy only to look at, 
as it rushed by the green meadows 
beyond the garden, on its way to the 
sea. 

“If he could see the dog he cries so 
for, it might save him,” said the doctor, 
who stood with a grave face watching 
Lolo. 

That was beyond any one’s power. 
No one could tell where Moufflon 
was. He might be carried away to 
England, to France, to Russia, to 
America——who could say? They 
did not know where his purchaser 


MOUFFLON 


57 


had gone. Moufflon even might be 
dead. 

The poor mother, when the doctor 
said that, went and looked at the ten 
hundred-franc notes that were once 
like angels’ faces to her, and said to 
them: 

“Oh, why did you tempt me? I 
sold the poor, innocent beast to get 
you, and now my child is dying!” 

H er eldest son would stay at home, 
indeed; but if this little lame one died! 
Rosina Calabucci would have given 
up the notes, and consented never to 
own five francs in her life if only she 


58 


MOUFFLON 


could have gone back over the time 
and kept Moufflon, and seen his little 
master running out with him in the 
sunshine. 

More than a month went by, and 
Lolo lay in the same state, his yellow 
hair shorn, his eyes stupid, life kept in 
him by a spoonful of milk, a lump of 
ice, a drink of lemon-water; always 
muttering, when he spoke at all, 
“Moufflon, Moufflon, Moufflon!” and 
lying for days together, with the fire 
eating at his brain, and the weight 
lying on it like a stone. 

The neighbors were kind, and 


MOUFFLON 


59 


brought fruit, and sat up with him, 
and chattered so all at once, that they 
were enough in themselves to kill him, 
for such is the Italian fashion of sym¬ 
pathy in illness. 

Lolo did not get well, did not even 
seem to see the light around him; 
and the doctor in plain words told 
Rosina that her little boy must die. 
She could not believe it. Could St. 
Mark, and St. George, and the rest 
that he had loved so, do nothing for 
him? 

No, the doctor said, they could do 
nothing; the dog might do something, 


60 


MOUFFLON 


since the brain had so fastened on that 
one idea; but then they had sold the 
dog. 

“Yes; I sold him!” said the poor 
mother, breaking into floods of tears. 

At last, the end drew so nigh, that 
one twilight the priest came out of the 
great arched door that is next St. 
Mark’s, passed across the piazzetta, 
and up the dark staircase of Rosina’s 
dwelling. He passed through the weep¬ 
ing, terrified children, and went to the 
bedside of Lolo. 

Lolo was unconscious, but the holy 
man touched his little body and limbs 


MOUFFLON 


61 


with the sacred oil, prayed over him, 
and then stood sorrowful, with bowed 
head. 

Lolo had had his first communion 
in the summer, and in his preparation 
for it, had won the priest’s gentle heart. 

Standing there, the holy man com¬ 
mended the innocent soul to God. It 
was the last service, save that very last 
of all when the funeral service should 
be read above his little grave, among 
the nameless dead at the sepulchres of 
the poor. 

All was still, as the priest’s voice 
ceased; only the sobs of the mother, 


62 


MOUFFLON 


and of the children, broke the stillness 
as they kneeled. 

Suddenly, there was a loud scuffling 
noise. Hurrying feet came patter, pat¬ 
ter up the stairs, a ball of mud and 
dust flew over the heads of the kneel¬ 
ing figures; fleet as the wind Moufflon 
dashed through the room and leaped 
upon the bed. 

Lolo opened his heavy eyes, and a 
light gleamed in them like a sunbeam. 
“Moufflon!” he murmured, in his 
little, thin, faint voice. The dog 
pressed close to his breast and kissed 
his wasted face. 


MOUFFLON 


63 


Moufflon was come home! 

And Lolo came home, too, for death 
let go its hold upon him. Little by 
little, very faintly, very uncertainly at 
first, life returned to the poor wasted 
body, and reason to the heated little 
brain. Moufflon was his physician. 
Moufflon, himself a skeleton under his 
matted curls, would not stir from his 
side, and looked at him all day long 
with two beaming brown eyes full of 
unutterable love. 

Lolo was happy; he asked no ques¬ 
tions,—was too weak, indeed, to wonder. 
He had Moufflon; that was enough. 


64 


MOUFFLON 


Alas! though they dared not say so 
in his hearing, it was not enough for 
his elders. His mother and Tasso 
knew that the poodle had been sold 
and paid for; that they could lay no 
claim to keep him; and that almost 
certainly his purchaser would seek him 
out and assert his right to him. How 
would Lolo ever bear that second 
parting?—Lolo, so weak that he 
weighed no more than if he had been 
a little bird. 

Moufflon had come a long distance 
and suffered much. 1 le was but skin 
and bone; he bore the marks of blows 


MOUFFLON 


65 


and kicks; his once silken hair was dis¬ 
colored and matted. He had, no doubt, 
traveled far. Yet his purchaser would 
be sure to ask for him, soon or late; 
and then? If they did not give him up 
themselves, the law would make them. 

Rosina Calabucci and Tasso, though 
they dared say nothing before any of 
the children, felt their hearts throb at 
every step on the stair, and the first 
question of Tasso every evening when 
he came from his work was, “Has any 
one come for Moufflon?” For ten 
days no one came, and their terrors 
lulled a little. 


66 


MOUFFLON 


On the eleventh morning, a feast- 
day, on which Tasso was not going to 
his labors, there came a person, with a 
foreign look, who said the words they 
so much dreaded to hear: “Has the 
poodle that you sold to an English 
gentleman come back to you?” 

“Yes.” 

The servant said they had missed 
the dog in Rome a few days after 
taking him there; that he had been 
searched for in vain, and that his 
master had thought it possible the 
animal might have found his way back 
to his old home: there had been 


MOUFFLON 


67 


stories of such wonderful sagacity in 
dogs. He had sent for him on the 
chance. The gentleman was back in 
Florence. The servant pulled from 
his pocket a chain, and said his orders 
were to take the poodle away at once. 
The little sick gentleman had fretted 
very much about his loss. 

Tasso heard in an agony of despair. 
To take Moufflon away now would be 
to kill Lolo,—Lolo so feeble still, so 
unable to understand, so alive to every 
sight and sound of Moufflon, lying for 
hours together motionless with his 
hand buried in the poodle’s curls, 


68 


MOUFFLON 


saying nothing, only smiling now and 
then, and murmuring a word or two in 
Moufflon’s ear. 

“The dog did come home,” said 
Tasso, at length, in a low voice; 
“angels must have shown him the 
road, poor beast! From Rome! 
Only to think of it, from Rome! 
and he a dumb thing! I tell you he 
is here, honestly; so will you not trust 
me just so far as this? Will you let 
me go with you and speak to the 
English lord, before you take the dog 
away? I have a little brother sorely 
ill”— 


MOUFFLON 


69 


He could not speak more, for tears 
that choked his voice. 

At last the messenger agreed so far 
as this. Tasso might go first and see 
the master, but he would stay here and 
have a care that they did not send the 
dog away,— “for a thousand francs 
were paid for him,” added the man, 
“and a dog that can come all the 
way from Rome by itself must be a 
wonderful creature.” 

Tasso thanked him, and went up¬ 
stairs, thankful that his mother was at 
mass. He took the ten hundred-franc 
notes from the old oak desk, and with 


70 


MOUFFLON 


them in his breast-pocket walked out 
into the air. 

He was only a working lad, but he 
had made up his mind to do an heroic 
deed, for self-sacrifice is always heroic. 
He went straightway to the hotel 
where the English milord was, and 
when he had got there remembered 
that still he did not know the name of 
Moufflon’s owner. The people of the 
hotel knew Rosina Calabucci’s son, 
guessed what he wanted, and said 
the gentleman who had lost the poodle 
was upstairs, and they would tell him. 

Tasso waited a half-hour, his heart 


MOUFFLON 


71 


beating against the packet of hundred- 
franc notes. At last he was beckoned 
upstairs, and there he saw a foreigner 
with a mild face, a lovely lady, and a 
delicate child, who was lying on a couch. 

“Moufflon! Where is Moufflon?” 
cried the little child, as he saw the 
youth enter. 

Tasso took his hat off, and stood in 
the doorway, brown, healthy, not un¬ 
graceful in his working clothes of 
rough, blue stuff. 

“ If you please, most illustrious,” he 
stammered, “poor Moufflon has come 
home.” 


72 


MOUFFLON 


The child gave a cry of delight; the 
gentleman and lady one of wonder. 
“Come home! All the way from Rome! ” 
“Yes, he has, most illustrious,” said 
Tasso, gaining courage and eloquence; 
“and now I want to beg something of 
you. We are poor, and I drew a 
number in the army, and it was for 
that my mother sold Moufflon. For 
myself, I did not know anything of it; 
but she thought she would buy my 
substitute, and of course she could; 
but Moufflon is come home, and my 
little brother Lolo, the little boy you 
first saw playing with the poodle, fell 


MOUFFLON 


73 


ill of the grief at losing Moufflon, and 
for a month has lain saying nothing 
sensible, but only calling for the dog. 
Lolo was so near dying that he had 
his last communion, and the holy oil 
had been put on him, when all at 
once there rushed in Moufflon, skin 
and bone, and covered with mud, and 
at the sight of him Lolo came back to 
his senses. That was ten days ago, 
and though Lolo is still as weak as a 
new-born thing, he is always sensible, 
and takes what we give him to eat, and 
lies looking at Moufflon, and smiling, 
and saying, ‘ Moufflon! Moufflon!’ 


74 


MOUFFLON 


“ I know well you have bought the 
dog, and the law is with you, and by 
the law you claim it; but I thought, 
perhaps, as Lolo loves him so, you 
would let us keep the dog, and would 
take back the thousand francs, and I 
will go and be a soldier, and heaven 
will take care of them all somehow.” 

Tasso, having said all this in one 
breath, took the thousand francs out of 
his breast-pocket and held them out tim¬ 
idly toward the foreign gentleman, who 
motioned them aside, and stood silent, 
“Did you understand, Victor?” he 
said, at last, to his little son. 


MOUFFLON 


75 


The child hid his face in his 
cushions. 

“Yes, I did understand something; 
let Lolo keep him; Moufflon was not 
happy with me.” 

He burst out crying as he said it. 

Moufflon had run away from him. 

Moufflon had never loved him, for 
all his sweet cakes, and fond caresses, 
and platefuls of delicate meats. Mouf¬ 
flon had run away, and found his own 
road over two hundred miles and 
more, to go back to some little hungry 
children, who never had enough to 
eat, and certainly could never give 


76 


MOUFFLON 


enough to the dog. Poor little boy! 
He was so rich, and so pampered, and 
so powerful, and yet he could never 
make Moufflon love him! 

Tasso, who understood nothing that 
was said, laid the ten hundred-franc 
notes down on a table near him. 

“If you would take them, most 
illustrious, and give me back what my 
mother wrote when she sold Mouf¬ 
flon,” he said, timidly, “ I would pray 
for you night and day, and Lolo 
would, too; and as for the dog, we 
will get a puppy and train him for 
your little signorino. They can all do 


MOUFFLON 


77 


tricks, more or less,— it comes by 
nature; and as for me, I will go to the 
army willingly; it is not right to inter¬ 
fere with fate; only, I do pray of you, 
do not take away Moufflon. He 
trotted all those miles and miles, and 
you carried him by train, too, and he 
never could have seen the road, and 
he has no power of speech to ask”— 

Tasso broke down again, and drew 
the back of his hand across his wet 
eyelashes. 

The English gentleman was not 
altogether unmoved. 

“Poor, faithful dog!” he said, with a 


78 


MOUFFLON 


sigh. “I am afraid we were very 
cruel to him, meaning to be kind. 
No; we will not claim him, and I do 
not think you should go for a soldier; 
you seem so good a lad, and your 
mother must need you. Keep the 
money, my boy, and in payment you 
shall train up the puppy you talk of, 
and bring him to my little boy. I will 
come and see your mother and Lolo 
to-morrow. All the way from Rome! 
What wonderful sagacity! What 
matchless fidelity!” 

You can imagine, without any telling 
of mine, the joy in Moufflon’s home 


MOUFFLON 


79 


when Tasso returned with the money 
and the good tidings. His substitute 
was bought without a day’s delay, and 
Lolo rapidly recovered. As for Mouf¬ 
flon, he could never tell his troubles, 
his wanderings, his difficulties, his 
perils; he could never tell them by 
what knowledge he had found his way 
across Italy, from the gates of Rome 
to the gates of Florence; but he soon 
grew plump again, and merry, and his 
love for Lolo was greater than before. 

In the winter, all the family went to 
live near Spezia, on an estate that the 
English gentleman had purchased, and 


80 


MOUFFLON 


there Moufflon was happier than ever. 
The little English boy gained strength 
in the soft air, and he and Lolo were 
great friends, and played with Mouf¬ 
flon and the poodle puppy half the 
day upon the sunny terraces, and 
under the green orange boughs. Tasso 
was one of the gardeners. Lolo, whose 
lameness always kept him from mili¬ 
tary service, when he grew to be a 
man became a florist, and a great one. 

“But, oh, Moufflon, how did you 
find your way home?” he asks the dog 
a hundred times a week. 

How, indeed! 











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